


Mistakes Made By Another (In Another Lifetime)

by tsurai



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Andraste!Anders, Angst, Diary/Journal, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2016-05-21
Packaged: 2018-06-09 19:56:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6920863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsurai/pseuds/tsurai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"They’ve raised me as a goddess when everything I fought for has been ground into ashes."</i><br/>Andraste did not go to the Maker’s side. Instead, she was reborn – and Anders has reawakened. Andraste!Anders</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mistakes Made By Another (In Another Lifetime)

**Author's Note:**

> This is a product of these[ two](http://tsuraiwrites.tumblr.com/post/127484735484/explodingchantry-hey-haha-lets-play-a-fun-game) [posts](http://inonelifeorless.tumblr.com/post/127942737147/kinlochhold-id-neither-a-guest-nor-a), my mind going off in fun directions, and of course [xhermionedanger](http://tmblr.co/meEfEgHWe4Y6UvZQUEByi4g)‘s endless encouragement.
> 
> Don't mind the fact I'm supposed to be writing Adoribull fic right now. Shhhhh.

(the journal is a ragged thing, gritty from being fished out of the mud more than once, covered in ink splotches and on several pages, blood)

_It was Justice that helped me remember. There was fire, then nothing, and then twenty-odd years into this new life I opened my eyes and remembered._

_The betrayal is more unbearable than my pyre. Have I not done my duty? I led armies in the Maker’s name, took down an empire and freed the people from Tevinter’s tyranny._

_I was content to burn, knowing I would wake again at the Maker’s side._

_Instead I woke to a sword through my chest, and we – Justice and I – killed them, those men who should have been the guardians and protectors of my legacy._

_I escaped, because for all my new memories everything in me still screamed run, run, run. I look now at the hands penning this and still half-expect to see more delicate bones, with calluses equally worn by sword and staff._

_I don’t know what to do._

_I plea but the Maker does not answer._

* * *

  _I found a Chantry – small, out of the way – with bored Templars not on the lookout for apostates. I have memories of growing up as Anders, being taught the Chant of Light. But I thought I remembered incorrectly. That those lessons had been twisted in my mind by time and the abuses I suffered. ~~I wish I had been right.~~_

_The Sisters were happy to offer me the use of their library under the guise of scholastic research, and what I’ve found…_

_It’s wrong. So wrong that even thinking about those words as the product of my teachings brings bile to my mouth. Everything that I am – that I was – has been erased, overwritten into this pale, blonde warrior-shadow that stares dispassionately down from stained glass windows._

_Magic is meant to serve man, never to rule over him. I remember speaking the words, proclaiming them to those loyal people who followed me onto the battlefield. Then I’d poured my will into the largest firestorm anyone had ever seen to rain down on the Tevinter army and the magisters who believed that being blessed with the gift of magic somehow made them worth more than the sentient beings without, that magic gave them the right to exploit, enslave, and destroy others at will._

_And I remember growing up in Fereldan countryside, learning the story of the Chant from my father along with his lessons on the horrors of magic. Then I burned down the barn, and he turned me over to the Templars with nary a second glance. “Never to rule over him,” they said as they dragged me kicking and screaming into the Circle. And I was watched, every minute of every day. Taught that I was something lesser, taught that I was dangerous, taught to be afraid of myself and my gift._

_The only light there was Karl, but he’s gone. They sent him to Kirkwall._

* * *

  _ ~~Oh Maker~~  _

_No, I will not call on Him anymore. He does not answer my prayers or my pleas in the night. ~~Why have You abandoned me here~~   I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. They’ve raised me as a goddess when everything I fought for has been ground into ashes. Surely… surely I’m not meant to do it all over again. I…I can’t see an end to it. Not like there was before – a promised place of comfort and peace in the hall of the Maker. Now I’m just wandering. _

_I have no purpose. ~~Please let me come home~~_

* * *

 

(in a jagged hand, as if the scribe is unused to writing) _**Our purpose is as it always has been. Justice. Freedom.**_

**_Andraste. Anders. Your memories have changed but you are the same._ **

**_We will rid this world of corruption. You already know where to start._ **

* * *

  _We’re going to Kirkwall._

* * *

_Kirkwall is a foul city. Words can’t begin to describe the sensation of its darkness – this place where the Veil was torn and savaged long ago. From Hightown to Darktown, the city reeks of fear and desperation scraping against my nerves. Thankfully, Justice is a steady comfort when the miasma of the city presses down on me – even in this hole I’ve carved for myself._

_Well, calling it a hole is unfair – I have access to sunlight, unlike a great many of the refugees that crowd Darktown. Even almost a year after Amell ended the Blight, thousands of refugees remain in the Free Marches, their homes destroyed and corrupt. The Marchers’ treatment of Fereldans disgust me._

_But that’s nothing compared to their treatment of the elves. ~~By the Maker~~ There’s so much I’ve forgotten, or so much I saw in places like Amaranthine but didn’t  see before, when I was myself. Myself instead of my _selves _._

_The Alienage in itself is a disturbing practice, but the conditions in Kirkwall’s Alienage are ten times worse than nearly anywhere else in the city. At least the residents of Darktown have the freedom to leave and wander during the day, but the elves… if they don’t work as servants or street-sweepers and they’re seen about town, they’re treated like second-class citizens at best, lepers at worst._

_Amell told me what it was like when she visited the Alienage in Denerim: the panicked elves rioting against the guards after being shut away, the people stolen in the night to be sold into slavery, all at the hands of the human lords supposed to be protecting them. I can’t...I still can’t believe I listened to that, didn’t do more than shrug and feel mildly impressed at the power it must have taken to take down Tevinter-trained mages. Just thinking about it now makes me feel sick._

_All the people she couldn’t save, those elves already well on their way to a life of drudgery, starvation, beatings, and the possibility of being used as a blood sacrifice. It’s disgusting and wrong and the worst part is looking at the Kirkwall Alienage and imagining how easily it could happen here. It’s only compounded by the twists of the Veil; the way the tatters try to entangle anyone who lives here too long._

_The only thing that makes this ~~Maker forsaken~~ place worth anything is Lirene. Her cousin – the one I healed on the ship over – put me in contact with her. She’s asked me if I can put my magic to good use, open a secret clinic for the Ferelden refugees. That’s not why we’re here. We’re here for the mages, for Karl. _

_But it’s taking more than I thought it would; no one here wants to chance the Gallows Templars’ wrath, let alone Knight-Commander Meredith’s. I can’t find anyone willing to smuggle a letter for what little coin I have left. Karl’s in there and with no way to contact him, any of them, I’m useless out here._

_But I know myself – even better than I did before – and if I start healing I won’t be able to stop. There are too many people in need who aren’t receiving any help, from the Chantry or otherwise. Illness rolls through Darktown like thunderclouds and elves meet far too many “accidents” on the street while everyone looks away. If I throw myself into this it might consume me. I can’t forget about Karl, about what Justice and I agreed was our cause._

(in a scribble) _I need to do something. I feel like I’m going insane with all these extra memories and these dreams. I can’t go back to where I was. Can’t go back to running without a purpose. I’m not that man anymore. ~~I won’t be left in the dark.~~_

* * *

  ** _One injustice does not negate another. If we work to alleviate their suffering, help where the Chantry will not, it would be a just cause. Fear not for our purpose. Together we will not stray._**

* * *

She has a dream where she wakes slowly, her face pressed against a bare chest. She knows without looking that it’s Shartan she’s cradled against, his skin hairless and warm with the scent of wolves and elfroot. Behind her Maferath stirs, slinging a hand across her belly and grumbling as he presses his bearded face against her neck.

“Awake, _kj_ _æreste_?”

She hums, tugging at his hand to settle it between her breasts, fingers interlaced with her own.

Shartan moans with discontent at the movement. “Mm…-n’era. Nuvena…somniar…” he trails into unintelligible mumbling as he settles, tucking her and consequently, Maferath closer to his chest.

Her husband laughs softly. “The damn elf wouldn’t wake before noon without his stomach to drive him out of bed.” The words are gruff, but can’t conceal his fond undertone.

She sighs, relaxing into the holds of the two men nearest and dearest to her on the mortal plane. She wouldn’t trade this for anything.

So of course that’s the moment her world dissolves into fire, the flash of swords, and the sharp ache of betrayal. She screams—

* * *

Anders wakes up sobbing.


End file.
